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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27506035">Winter: Melting in My Hand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanzuh/pseuds/sanzuh'>sanzuh</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Seasons of My Love [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Cancer, Character Death, Dementia, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 03:26:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27506035</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanzuh/pseuds/sanzuh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A widow at twenty-five and her only experience with marriage being quite a horrendous one, Sansa has no intention of ever getting married again.</p><p>That's until she meets a handsome young soldier in a pub.</p><p>After fifty-five years of marriage, two children, five grandchildren and three great-grandchildren, Jon and Sansa are still happy. But then disaster strikes.</p><p> </p><p>This used to be chapter 3 of a multichapter fic, but I'm finally turning them into a series of separate fics because I think that makes more sense.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jon Snow/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Seasons of My Love [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010232</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Winter: Melting in My Hand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from <em>Misty</em> by Kate Bush</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sansa is twenty-five. </p><p>She and her friends have all signed up as army nurses. She wanted to spend her last night before leaving in peace and quiet, but somehow she let Margaery talk her into coming along to a pub. A group of soldiers awaiting deployment are spending their free night here as well and the girls are giggling too loudly as they try to catch the boys' attention.</p><p>Because that's what they are: boys, all ranging between the ages of seventeen and nineteen - perhaps one or two can boast to be twenty or twenty-one - and they have no idea what's waiting for them. <em>The Knights of Summer, </em>her mother would have called them. </p><p>Sansa feels out of place, being not only the oldest of their group, but also a widow. She can't say she regrets her husband's death, she's too relieved to be rid of him. Joffrey was a vulgar bully and at times she can still feel the bruises and cuts that used to litter her skin during their marriage. Between Joffrey and leering Uncle Petyr, she's had her fill of men, so unlike her friends, she's not keen on having an innocent flirt with an army boy.</p><p>She takes a sip of her soda, trying to smile at a bawdy joke Margie's cousin Megga just shared and excuses herself. She needs some fresh air and a cigarette. </p><p>It's colder than she thought outside, so she wraps her coat more tightly around her as she tries to light a cig. The flame of her lighter keeps flickering out and suddenly a pair of large hands cup around hers to shield it from the wind. His head's bent down, but she recognises the unruly dark curls. He's one of the soldiers from inside the pub.</p><p>"Thank you," she mutters.</p><p>He glances up at her with a smirk. "You're welcome, Miss."</p><p>Their eyes meet, and even in the dark, she can see colour flooding his face. His lips part in surprise and she instantly drops her cigarette, fleeing back inside.</p><p>She tries to ignore him for the rest of the evening, overwhelmed by all the beauty she can suddenly see and what it means.</p><p>It's not until later, when Margie is talking to her handsome stranger and lightly brushes her hand over his shoulder, that Sansa can't take it anymore.</p><p>She stalks over to them, heels clicking rhythmically, and practically shoves her friend aside.</p><p>She's not even sure what she was planning to do, but now that she's close enough to count his eyelashes and study the curve of his lips, she doesn't hesitate.</p><p>She cups his jaw, lightly scratching his wispy beard and dives in to kiss him deeply, encouraged by the hoots and delighted shrieks of their respective groups of friends.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>I loved a maid as white as winter</em>
</p><p>
  <em>with moonglow in her hair</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Sansa sighed as she pulled the brush through her thick, snowy mane. <em>They'll find him, </em>she kept telling herself. <em>He'lll be fine, </em>the mantra repeated itself over and over again in her head.</p><p>She couldn't allow herself to think otherwise. Oh, how she wished she could be out there looking for him herself, but she would be of no use to them.</p><p><em>I shouldn't have sent him out by himself. </em>Jon made the trip to the grocery store just around the corner and the bakery across the street almost weekly. The doctors said it was good for him to keep doing things independently as long as he could. The worst that had happened so far was that he got angry because the butcher wouldn't sell him any bread.</p><p><em>It's all my fault. </em>She'd given him a list, told him exactly where to buy what, but perhaps she should have waited until she felt better and could have gone along with him, or asked Minisa for help. It's just that she didn't want to impose on her daughter's life more than she already did.</p><p>Suddenly the front door swung open and she pushed herself to her feet, bracing her hand on the table to keep herself steady.</p><p>"We were out of dog food," she could hear Jon explain to Mina. "Your mother forgot to put it on the list."</p><p>They hadn't had a dog in seven years and the store on Torrhen's Square he went looking for had closed nearly two years ago. When he couldn't find it, he'd tried to head home again, but he had forgotten how to get back.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The next morning she woke up to Jon opening drawers, a scowl fixed on his face. At first she'd asked him what he was looking for whenever he did that, but she'd learned it often set off his temper.</p><p>He glanced up to find her standing in the doorway and beamed at her. She was fond of his smiles, they made him look fifteen years younger and incredibly handsome.</p><p>He closed the distance between them quickly - he was still in an excellent physical condition for his age- and cupped her cheeks to kiss her. Suddenly his hands slid down her neck and collarbones and he started to fondle her breasts.</p><p>"Jon!" she cried out, swatting his hands away as she pulled back. "We're too old for that nonsense!"</p><p>She pushed past him to get to the kitchen. She almost jumped when she suddenly felt his hand groping her arse. "I can't help it, lovely girl," he whispered into her ear. "You drive me insane."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>She was sitting on the bench under the cherry tree, trying to focus on her knitting, but the doctor's voice kept echoing inside her head.</p><p>She'd been able to hear the words, but she couldn't make sense of them. <em>Lymph nodes. Metastasis. Early stage 4. </em></p><p><em>"Is it treatable?" </em>Minisa had asked. Her stomach churned as she recalled the look of pity on the oncologist's face. He'd murmured excuses like <em>"your mother's age" </em>and <em>"with her medical history."</em></p><p><em>I'm still sitting right here! </em>part of her had wanted to scream, but she'd just felt too numb.</p><p><em>"How long?" </em>she remembered asking.</p><p>
  <em>"Difficult to tell, probably six months."</em>
</p><p>Dying didn't particularly scare her, being left behind was always worse, but she couldn't leave Jon, not now. </p><p><em>"Should we tell him?" </em>Mina had asked after explaining the situation.</p><p>The doctor had rubbed his chin and removed his glasses, wiping them as he pondered her question. <em>"I believe it's best to consult the physician who's treating your father before making a final decision," </em>he'd stated eventually. <em>"But I'd advise against it. He won't remember most of the time, and when he does, it might be too much to handle."</em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>So Sansa tried to cope by herself, keeping her husband in the dark on the fact that she was dying. She willed her body to stay strong, for him. The doctors and her daughter and son had all agreed that she shouldn't tell Jon, but she kept worrying. <em>What's going to happen when he wakes up one day and I'm gone? </em></p><p>She was aware telling him probably wouldn't make any difference, but it still hurt so much to lie to him and to bear this pain alone. She had Arya and Brienne, but neither of them were good at talking, and Sansa would never burden Mina or Ned with her own troubles. She was their mother, for Seven's sake!</p><p>Jon had been her rock for over fifty-five years, and though he was still with her, she was on her own now. Some days she felt like the Jon she'd known and loved for so long was already gone. </p><p>Jon would have never shoved her aside in frustration. Jon wouldn't stand in front of their open window stark naked, glaring and shouting at the people who pointed and laughed behind their hands.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Brienne and her husband Jaime were visiting. They'd just finished their tea and cakes when Jaime proposed they all play a board game together. Sansa tried to distract him by asking how his brother Tyrion was doing, not wanting to explain that Jon was no longer able to remember the rules to most games.</p><p>She couldn't make Jaime change his mind however, especially after sweet oblivious Jon agreed, both men's competitive streak coming out, but she did manage to steer their choice toward a relatively simple card game.</p><p>Yet twenty minutes in, Jon suddenly leapt to his feet, roaring: "You're all cheating!" and threw his cards in Jaime's face. </p><p>"Hey, sit down, caveman!" Jaime urged him, as Sansa hid her flushed cheeks behind her own cards.</p><p>"You're a fucking cheater, Lannister!" Jon threw back at him, banging his fist on the table.</p><p>Sansa thanked all the gods Brienne had the presence of mind to stop Jaime from taking it any further by putting a hand on his arm.</p><p>***</p><p>Jon was walking around naked again, but at least he wasn't near any streetside windows this time. He grinned at Sansa as she let her eyes trail down his body, desperately wondering how she was going to convince him to put on some clothes.</p><p>Suddenly he slapped his own arse. "I have a nice butt, don't I, Sansa? I've seen you looking at it. I know you want to get your hands on me," he purred, trying to wink at her.</p><p>She decided to indulge him, taking a step closer and admitting: "You caught me!"</p><p>Suddenly her vision became blurry and her knees buckled. The last thing she heard was his panicked cry: "Sansa! Sansa, baby! What's wrong?"</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>Five months later. </em>
</p><p>Jon hobbled on through the black-and-white streets of Wintertown, the snow flurrying down around him. For some reason he'd woken up in a hospital bed that morning, and though his joints felt a little stiff, he was quite sure he was not ill, so he had no business being in a hospital.</p><p>The world around him looked drab and dull. It hadn't always been like that, but he couldn't remember when or why it had changed. When he closed his eyes, he could still see colours: blue and pink and cream, and a rich rusty red that smelled like lemons and lavender.</p><p>He couldn't recall the exact significance of those colours and that scent, but he knew he had to get back home, where she'd be waiting for him, and everything would be fine.</p><p>Her name was on the tip of his tongue. He wet his lips, trying to remember. He kicked the lid off a trash bin, huffing in frustration. </p><p>He crossed the street when he saw a florist shop, going in to buy a pot of jonquils. After another forty-five minutes, he'd finally found the house with the cherry tree.</p><p>He patted his pockets, looking for a key. When he realised he must have forgotten it, he knocked on the door, but no one came to answer it. How foolish of him! It was the middle of the day, she must still be at work.</p><p>He sat down on the bench under the cherry tree and decided to wait for her. It was colder than he'd realized. He rubbed his hands together, blowing hot air into them, wishing he had a warmer jacket.</p><p>He pushed himself to his feet, groaning at his protesting joints and started pacing the front garden. He didn't really keep track of time, but after a while he decided to get comfortable on the bench again. <em>She won't be long now. </em></p><p>He could feel fatigue settling in his bones and his head slumping to his shoulder. He jerked up, suppressing a yawn. <em>She won't be long now.</em></p><p>He felt so sleepy suddenly. He'd just close his eyes for a minute.</p><p>A delicate hand touched his shoulder. "Jon," she whispered. He blinked, shielding his eyes from the bright light that suddenly invaded them.</p><p>She was standing in front of him in a lovely blue sundress, long auburn hair framing her face in soft curls. "Sansa?" he asked, his voice rough.</p><p>She beamed at him. "Come."</p><p>He took the hand she was extending to him without hesitating.</p>
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